Mythas' Return: The Lost Princess

Chapter Eleven: Guardian of Mystic Crossing

Chapter Eleven: Guardian of Mystic Crossing

A gentle breeze blew over the fields of Polaveris that morning, carrying the subtle scent of honeysuckles and the sound of humming grass as the meadow sang its song of early spring. Mythas ran her fingers through the grass, each blade feeling like silk over her palms as the hymnal tones floated over the many hills of the elvish country. Countless wildflowers littered over the field, every color seemed more saturated in Polaveris than it did anywhere else; the hues were brighter, the sun was warm but never hot, and the air breathed life into every inhabitant. Pixies danced on the blooming blossoms, using loose petals to ride the breeze before jumping off of them and feather-falling into the cushiony meadow below.

Elven pixies were kind creatures, often described as if innocence had taken the shape of a strange butterfly; they were pure as anything Mother Nature could bestow upon her people, creatures that gave gifts to travelers rather than stealing from them, or worse - as the adventurers had experienced with the orcish fae. Nothing about Polaveris felt real in the slightest, but it was; it was as if danger could never exist in a place like this, and neither could fear.

Lokvaar swung his sword across the tall grass, slicing through the singing strands, clearly uncomfortable with the cheery nature of the Emperor's Meadow.

"You lumbering fool, do not disgrace our holy land!" Iliran scolded his friend.

"The gods will have no mercy if you behave so destructively!" Fiel agreed.

"This place...I feel like I'm suffocating." the halfling admitted.

Lokvaar groaned, "I feel like I've just drank an entire cauldron of butterscotch. My teeth ache, my stomach is sick."

"You do not like it?" Mythas asked, turning around in circles as she practically danced in the field.

"No, princess...I do not." the warrior scoffed.

"Our homeland is blessed by the Divine Ocean's fog...it makes most things pleasant, here." Pelleas explained, lifting his hand to catch a dive bombing pixie that intended on using the elf's lengthy chestnut tresses as a slide before fluttering down to the flowers beneath his feet. He lifted her to his nose, to which she put her tiny hands upon his nostrils and bent forward to give him a kiss, then shyly flitting off toward her hovel somewhere in the hills.

"All you need now is fruit filled pastry..." Davret chuckled slightly, recalling their time in Gukuzu's hut.

"The only real threat here...well, is the elves themselves." admitted Iliran. "Along with the wyvern-spawn of the High Peaks."

"Good thing that is where we are headed now. Onward!" Lokvaar beamed, wanting nothing more than to escape the peace and bright colors. "The gods have mercy for me afterall."

Iliran rolled his eyes, "Unfortunately, the Peaks offer us...essentially a short-cutting through Yagrivan's White Plains, it is the shortest range of Unmelting Ice to cross, according to the map."

"Of course..." Pelleas sighed hopelessly.

"Marvelous." Davret agreed sarcastically.

Mythas walked beside Fiel, admiring the ornate tattoos on her forehead as they practically glistened in the early afternoon sunlight. "Have you ever ventured this far...to the High Peaks?"

"We were not allowed." she told the fauness. "Yagrivanian borders are highly forbidden in elvish society."

"They are forbidden in Loncyrian society, period." Davret mocked.

"Yes, halfwit...but," Iliran cut through. "We are actually expected to follow the law, out of respect for the royal family. Elves and fauns have always been friendly, given that we share immortality and all."